Extreme Listening Mode!

When Kevin Shields and company announced the return of My Bloody Valentine for a short live rebirth, it generated as much excitement amongst a certain type of music fan as Paul and Ringo announcing a few comeback dates would have amongst everybody else. The epithet ‘legendary’ is overused, especially by us Left of the Dial types, but here genuinely was one of the most important British bands of the late 80′s and early 90′s coming back after a hiatus which only heaped more mystery on them. The madness was driven by the  tales of Shields studio fanaticism, his profligacy (he nearly bankrupted Creation recording ‘Loveless’, which cost £250,000 in 1991 – a lot of money for an indie record now, but an insane amount of money then) and, most thrillingly, their fearsome live reputation – based on brain-scouring loudness and the original ‘shoegazing’ stage persona.

It’s apt that the band are playing the Barrowlands, the venerable and quirky old soldier of Glasgow’s venues. In the 80′s and early 90′s this was where guitar bands played, indeed, this was success. Britpop’s ambition and the burgeoning live scene put paid to the smaller venues’ hegemony, but being here tonight is a reminder of why this place, with it’s never changing decor and beer/sweat pungency, is so revered. There is a palpable sense of expectation, shot through with a frisson of not knowing what to expect. It’s proper, Old School hot in here tonight too. It’s perfectly set up.

And, Jesus Fuck, it is everything we’d expected and more. It’s an absolute sonic assault on the senses, a whirlpool of sheer, unadulterated noise, permeated by shards of melody and raw emotional beauty. And it’s fuck-off loud. Many have brought earplugs. ELM has, but there is something in men, stupid but powerful nonetheless, which prevents me putting them in. Occasionally, it’s fingers-in-the-ear to pick out the melodies, but it removes the grandiose all-encompassing fuzz which has taken hold of this room.

The songs, such as they are, remain magnificent. ‘Only Shallow’, ‘I Only Said’ and ‘To Here Knows When’ are stone cold classics, absolute marvels of texture, tone and, yep, noise. There’s an almost jazz-like quality to the thunderous sound, as moments of indescribable beauty emerge from the most unlikely of places. The band remind you why shoegazing was so called, standing resolutely head down, locked into the sound. The stage show is excellent, however, multicoloured lights and short films providing a perfect partner-in-crime to the aural assault. It’s visually stunning, and really hammers the senses. ‘Soon’ is despatched joyfully and explosively, as the crowd begins to look forward to the noise trauma that is ‘You Made Me Realise’.

You have maybe read about what the band do with this song, but nothing will ever, ever prepare you to hear that. The musical break section, which lasts about a minute on record, is spun, beaten and exploded into a 20-minute cathartic, primal battering ram on your id. It is sheer venom, like a scouring brush being rubbed inside your cranium. The lights are flashing, the white noise continues to build, and you suddenly realise that you are witnessing an inverse of Cage’s ’4.33′ – its not the silence, its the noise which is causing your brain to hear melodies, detect things which may or may not be there. It’s hard to tell. Ladies and Gentleman, we are floating in space, and it is exhilarating and terrifying. When it has been strung out to its last and morphs, jerking, back into the conventional song, the crowd are simply exhausted, and shuffle deafened into the Glasgow night. It isn’t something you could witness every night, unless you are mental, but it really is an event, and it’s a unique and inescapably memorable event.

ELM has simply never experienced anything like it. Utterly, spellblindingly thrilling. And did we mention it was loud?